The Missus and the Mortician
by witchkid
Summary: "Life never made me feel as alive as death did." The adventures of a confused and curious ghost kid. The Undertaker has never been so excited to have a dead girl in his guest bed. UndertakerxOC. T for now! Suicide mentioned. *edited*
1. Ghosts and Giggles

**A/N: I'm editing the two chapters I have up until they suit my fancy and then maybe, MAYBE, I'll post more because I'm still interested in the idea of this story. Tell me if I should continue by reviewing/following/favoriting! Have fun reading!**

**EDITED as of JULY 22**

**/suicide mention, but there's a happy, sappy ending woohoo**

**...**

When I died it wasn't necessarily some horrible, tear-jerking pity-party. In fact, it was sort of anticlimactic.

It wasn't big. It wasn't dramatic.

It was sad, depressing, lonely. It was pretty scary.

Basically it just sucked a whole fuckin' lot.

Now I didn't die some valiant heroic death. I wasn't saving or sticking up for anyone. I didn't die thinking it was the most honorable thing to do.

No, I didn't die of a horrible disease. I didn't spend my last days in a hospital bed, breathing in artificial air and living off a life prescribed to me. That way out Death's door sucked according to those I've talked to since my death.

My death was… of my own accord in the end, quite honestly. I committed suicide. It's something I look back on now and regret. But overall I was only capable of handling so much, and unfortunately also capable of taking my own life. But I don't wanna be a downer, maybe you'll get to hear more about that story later.

Lemme rewind, kiddos, and get off the depressing subject. I said "… according to those I've talked to since my death" and no, I'm not in hell like anyone might've believed. When I died it was, as I said, anticlimactic _as fuck_ to begin with. I mean I'm sure if it had happened in a movie there would be some unnecessarily loud music building up in the background before the climax and then a quiet fade to black and it'd end on "the cliffhanger of the century" but…

You know, I'm getting off track. _Big time._

When I died, there was that heart-clenching darkness for a while. A _long_ while. At least a nine months if I were to follow human time, which I eventually stopped following for a while. It was something that initially made my stomach sink into my feet. I thought that I'd finally confirmed my suspicions of what was at the end of the road for us lousy humans. Nothing.

The darkness was scary at first, and then very quickly became comforting. It was like being surrounded by black downy feathers. I could grab the darkness and hold the darkness. I could become one with the darkness and let my mind become the darkness. It was an old friend and a new friend, one I was completely comfortable with and one that I was discovering more about all the time. That's more than you can do with light, I'll tell you that.

Now this period of darkness is what I like to call my sleeping period. I adjusted to darkness in this time and learned how to see things without my eyes. How to sense things by energy and aura. The darkness seemed to be a thin layer separating me from the living world, allowing me to hear murky conversations and walk through grey make-believes of people.

It was my rest and recovery, my teacher and my friend. It was probably my favorite part of the entire process, which unfortunately and surprisingly continued long after the darkness.

The sleeping period was followed by what I like to call my dreaming period, because it always seemed too amazing and fantastical to be real. For a while I thought it was simply something I was making up in my head.

That comforting darkness was pulled away from me quickly and rudely. Like somebody coming in and ripping the blankets off of you at six in the morning. And the first thing I opened my eyes to was a gravestone.

And after staring at the name and putting together the broken puzzle pieces in my head, I realized the name carved into the stone tasted very familiar. The sleeping period made it easy to forget you were dead after a while so my stomach lurched when I confirmed that I was staring at my gravestone.

Before I could even think of throwing up whatever ghostly contents were inside me I felt eyes on me. When I searched for them I was faced with many pairs. All standing at their gravestones, all looking sympathetic.

"Welcome, dear." I'd heard the one across from me say, a plump elderly woman. Except she wasn't exactly... _there._ She was sort of a transparent mist that looked like it would dissipate if I swung my arm through her.

Which I decidedly didn't do.

My dreaming period was filled with ghosts and the unbelievable. In a large city graveyard, I was surrounded. Whether they be from the 1980s or the 1780s, they were there. I spent about a year in my dreaming period but I don't quite want to have to go through it fully. For some reason I feel like that would be disrespectful to the others I met there.

I learned the rules, I learned about death, I learned about ghosts, the basic outline of what was to become of me. I learned about fading into the background, about haunting people, about becoming that transparent mist I'd seen, about communicating with the dead.

Now, you're probably wondering something along the lines of: Why the fuck would you need to learn to communicate with the dead when you've already croaked?

Believe me, I had the same question. So, I asked that question over and over and over again until finally someone got annoyed, sat me down, and told me. And, boy, if I weren't already dead I would've died of shock.

The first thing I was told was that I wouldn't be in that city graveyard forever, just like I wasn't in the darkness forever. And why was this? Do ghosts get transferred? Outsourced? Apparently, it wasn't that I wasn't allowed to stay in the graveyard, it was that I wasn't allowed to stay _dead. _

_What?_

Isn't death inevitable and eternal? Well, there's a funny story to that.

Now there's some rule somewhere. Suicide victims, like myself, are apparently a thorn in the Grim Reaper's side because they weren't necessarily _scheduled _to die. I mean, of course they _do_ die. They were ultimately meant to if it fuckin' _happens_. But suicide victims carry a sort of element of _surprise_, evidently.

And that's not necessarily a good thing...? I don't know how I feel about it yet.

But anyway, because they weren't actually _supposed_ to die, they don't. At least, not for long. Any ole ghost can choose to be reincarnated, but it's a bit risky 'cuz you could end up as a goldfish at PetSmart or something, depending on how good a person you were in past lives. (Explains that vicious pet hamster you had when you were 8, right? It was probably a dead serial killer that chanced their luck at reincarnation.)

But yeah, it's entirely up to a regular ghost whether they want to go through with it.

Well, suicide victims don't necessarily get an _option. _

They don't necessarily get _reincarnation_ either.

They get another thing called _resurrection_. Which is the awakening of their soul in a different body of their choosing. Now for the longest time, I was thinking I was gonna get to pimp out my second body, you know? That I was gonna be able to give myself supermodel looks and just strut my stuff wherever I would go.

But that's not quite the case, I was quickly told. I would get to choose from a few handful of people that had recently died and inhabit their body, and my body would be in the handful they got to choose from. All bodies provided for me would be suicide victims, as was the rule.

Reincarnation is different from resurrection because reincarnation is the soul of the dead human coming to existence once again inside a newborn creature. Resurrection involves no babies.

When I was called upon for resurrection I was surrounded again by that darkness I'd lived with in the beginning. Except in front of me were dozens of people staring at me. All were my age, all came from different times, all committed suicide. And that was sort of sad.

The rule was that I was supposed to pick a body from one of them, and a time from another. Because we can't have the same body up and at 'em again if they've just kicked the bucket.

And I did. And it was sort of… depressing. Leaving behind my old body that would most likely be riddled with scars and memories.

I spent a lot of time there, which I also won't go into. Most of it was with everyone getting to know each other, getting to know what they would get into. I'll make it short and sweet. I chose the body of a girl my age with long black hair and noticeably big eyes. I chose the time of a boy (I think he said his name was Tommy?) wearing odd clothes, a stupid hat, and a wide smile. 1987.

I was slightly surprised when a shy soul assigned a boy at birth with a face done with pretty makeup politely asked for my body. It took me a second before I was smiling and nodding and talking to her about how what size bras she should get and what size shoe she would be. A boy from the 50s with greased back hair and sunken eyes asked for my time and I gladly accepted.

Four people that were immediately connected to me. That was more than I could say for when I was living.

Then things started going into motion, which was nerve-wrecking but relieving. One second I was talking avidly with the person whose body I took and the person that took my body, when the darkness gave way to abrupt light. I couldn't even feel shocked much at all before I felt like someone had drugged me. The light turned different colors in my eyes as I swayed, fighting off a feeling of sudden sleepiness. I stared up at the pretty, if not obnoxious, light until my eyelids drooped too much to see past.

When I finally capitulated to sleep it was relieving, as if I'd been forcing my eyes open too long. After a few long moments of seeing that excruciating white behind my eyes it all shut off, as if a light switch had been flipped.

In a single moment, I was struck with the realization that I had to do something. It felt as if there was a magnet pulling the feeling of life after death out of my body. I tried not to panic and attempted to think of something I could do that wouldn't result in me throwing this suddenly very active ball of life inside my dead body. I slowed my breathing and focused on that ball of life, I felt my brain spark with a spiritual effort I'd never dealt with before. I took this thing I never knew existed and was forced to bring it into existence.

Just as I was about to full on panic, I felt my breathing shallow. With one final exhale, my dead breath shook and left my body, a last goodbye to the old carcass I was. With that final breath I felt myself leave with it. As if I'd never really needed a body to begin with. I felt like I was nowhere and everywhere all at once.

I couldn't see anything without eyes, as my mind had been warped into that ball of life, but those 9 months in darkness had taught me well and I could sense every other soul in that place floating about. Some drifted back towards their bodies, others drifted towards their bodies-to-be. And they were all different colors and beautiful.

They were like children, untouched and innocent, curiouser and curiouser. It was beautiful, it was what they deserved, a moment of peace and understanding.

If I'd had tear ducts then I would've been tearing up. Because after a lifetime of struggles I couldn't contain and handle ended harshly by my own hand, this was finally a moment feeling absolutely fucking _free. _For once I was focusing on me and my future. I felt hope and joy and all things I would've scoffed at in my past life.

Ah, life, what can I even say about it at this point? Life never made me feel as alive as death did.

And so into the body that was new to me and mine to keep for now, I felt that breath come to me again and with it a new kind of life returned to me. I closed my new eyes and was surprised to feel tears falling down my face. I turned to that shy soul now in my body, clutching her hands over her heart and crying happy tears.

I reached over and pulled her in, sobbing with her like a war had ended. And, in a sense, a war had in fact ended. A war inside ourselves, if you want to throw in a metaphor. I sat there, feeling my breathing even out, and pecked her and my old body on the head in farewell. That magnetic feeling returned again and my eyes squeezed shut as I felt her disappear. It took a few moments of darkness until I felt a tug at my soul.

My ears started working first.

Birds were chirping, a large bell was ringing, and I could hear city life. It wasn't my old city life sounds. For some reason, the cars sounded different, the air felt clearer, the yelling was in voices I had never heard before.

And I was brand new.

"Um." I heard a distinctly male voice utter smartly, and then shuffling.

And then an even smarter statement from the same voice, "What?" The voice had a nice roughness to it as if it'd been used to tell stories upon stories.

_Maybe this life around I could be more graceful and polite. I won't cuss as much, I'll learn something new. It'll be great._

I opened my eyes to an off black cloak and a shovel.

Well, more specifically, someone was wearing the off black cloak, but I didn't care enough to fully register their existence yet. In that moment I was more happy to be alive than I had ever been.

"Oh my stars…" I mumbled to myself. Taking an unnecessarily long whiff of the air around me and frowning a bit in contemplation when I smelled horses and dirt. The atmosphere around me was grey and foggy.

_C'mon guys, this is the 1980s! Where are the boomboxes? Where's Michael Jackson?_ I thought to myself, _This is sort of a shit welcoming party now isn't it?_

I stiffened a little, my happiness ruined with doubt, _Wait there weren't an abundance of horses in the 80s, were there?_

"Eheh… are you okay, madam?" The cloak asked.

I looked up into a large smile, "Not… really?" To be honest, I wasn't quite sure.

Before he could say anything else I had to ask, "What's with all those horses?" I pointed at the dirt street beyond a fence I'd found filled with horse drawn carriages and oddly dressed people.

I'm pretty sure I heard the character stifle a giggle, "They're basic means of transportation, aren't they?"

"Uhm… what about like… cars and shit?" I asked, truly curious as to why the fuck this guy thought I was being funny. And also not noticing that I'd just cussed without meaning to.

_Fuck the whole "New Life's Resolution"._

"They're not as common, I suppose~" The man sing-songed.

I huffed and furrowed my eyebrows, whacking him on the knee, "Oi! You pullin' my leg? This _is _the 1980s right? Are you all some part of a reenactment? I'm not an idiot!"

The man frowned for a moment before snorting and giggling for a long time. He clutched his stomach and leaned back so far I thought he'd fall. His giggling turned into loud laughter very quickly, startling me back into a gravestone.

"Hey! Wait, wait, wait! What's so funny?!" I yelled over his tremendous cackling. I ran a hand through my new black hair and marveled at how soft it was for a moment before my hand accidentally touched some sort of material.

I turned around to glare at the gravestone and saw a vaguely familiar and stupid hat perched atop it. I scrutinized the carving:

**Thomas "Tommy" Jones**

**1870-1887**

**May he rest in peace**

I frowned for a moment and looked to the hat again. From the gravestone, to the hat, to the gravestone, to the hat, until _finally._

_1887?_

_Wait._

_Fucking…_

_HELL NO._

_FUCK THIS._

"Oh my fucking _HELL._" I nearly screeched, causing the man to finally stop laughing. He was wiping the tears of laughter streaming down his face with a large grin.

"M-my dear, it's 1887~!" He said, snorting at the end and giggling some more.

"I collected that." I said, my eyes wide and my mind buzzing. I'm pretty sure I stared at nothing in particular while the strange, tall man giggled above me.

"Hey, guy. I don't know who you are but keep this in mind, never trust a fuckin' ghost named Tommy."

**...**

**This might continue past chapter 2, don't keep too keen an eye out though**


	2. Names and Near-Death Situations

**Chapter 2! Thank you to everyone who expressed their interest in this via reviewing, favoriting, following, or just reading! It means a lot, and I know you probably hear a lot of creators say that but, If I'm right, it's for the same reason that I'm saying it. That reason being: the motivation you can get from people being interested in the shit inside your brain is astounding. It's brilliant and encouraging and I fuckin' love it. Sorry for getting all gross and sappy on you. Ew.**

**Now, I realized that there is a _lot_ of cussing in this only after I wrote it, so expect more of that in the future and sorry if you don't like cussing. But I mean who doesn't like cussing? That's a rhetorical question.**

**ONWARDS!**

_**IMPORTANT: this chapter was edited JULY 22nd and the ending has been CHANGED to suit the flow of the story better, you might wanna scroll down a bit and give it a quick look-see if you read the original version.**_

* * *

After definitely not bother to explain the warning I'd given the dude, I slumped against the gravestone. Fully collection just how much utter _shit _I was in.

In the midst of the millions of lightning speed thoughts going on behind my furrowed eyebrows, I realized that I was indeed leaning against a _gravestone. _The fuck? I looked to my right and left and saw more rows of gravestones. I lazily slumped to the side and saw more still past the man that hadn't moved yet.

I guess it made sense for me to be in a graveyard, I was pretty much a dead girl I supposed. And the gravestone I ended up waking up on was pretty self explanatory. I was picking up where that douche, Tommy, left off.

What I wanted to know was, why the ever-loving _fuck _was this beanstalk of a man in this graveyard? With a _shovel, _no less.

"Yo, Chuckles." I barked, possible a bit too harshly, but I had excuses. He responded to the quick-thought nickname. I nearly snorted at how inappropriately adorable this grown man looked turning his head to look at me with his hair whipping around him.

Now that I mention it, he did have quite long, oddly colored hair. It was this silvery-white sorta color that fell like a waterfall down past his ass. His silly bangs covered his eyes, showing only his nose and a defined scar running over his left cheek.

"You are one kooky dude," I said, which only made him grin, "I've decided I like it." He chuckled quietly at this.

He didn't seem to be planning on saying anything quite yet and I didn't want him to have the time to start thinking of questions to ask, so I just said the first thing on my mind, "You lootin' graves or what? Afternoon doesn't seem like the best time to do that, eh?"

He frowned a little, but it wasn't like an _actual_ frown. It was a contemplative one. The kind where you purse your lips and pout a little in the process? Yeah, that one.

"I would _never_!" He gasped over-dramatically, his grin returning, "Not in the afternoon at least." He finished with a giggle.

I felt my lips quirk a little at that one, and I rolled my eyes, "So why are you here? And uh… how long have I been here? Wait, what exactly happened? Who are you? Where am I? Wh—"

"Easy, now, don't hurt yourself." He interrupted me. His smile dropped a little bit and he seemed to be contemplating something before he shrugged to himself, "Follow me, tell me what's going on and I'll tell you all I know and all you need to know…"

I frowned a little bit and furrowed my eyebrows, moving myself to get up.

"… for a price." He finished.

I immediately slumped back down, "_What?_ Hey, listen, Chuckles!" I pointed at him harshly, "I just woke up here and I don't have any money for you!"

"I have no desire for the queen's mo—"

"Then I sure as hell won't be stripping for you, touching you, or screwing you for a wee bit of decent information, you perverted old man! Holy shit, I wasn't expecting the objectifying of women and overall _grossness _to be so horrible right off the bat!" I interrupted him quickly, with a scowl. I could feel myself going red in the face whether from anger or from the mere notion of this guy thinking I'd sell myself to him.

The man, however, didn't even seem irritated by anything I'd just said and within seconds of me stopping had burst out laughing. I scowled.

He didn't even laugh in some regular way, he was _vibrating with laughter._ His cackles echoed throughout the entire graveyard and in my head. He stumbled a little bit and grasped onto the gravestone next to me, bending over and clutching his stomach.

I spun my body to look at him, the scowl turned into a frustrated pout and I was red now for an entirely different reason - embarrassment. Because _apparently_ I thought that me using my body as payment was a much more serious option than he did.

He eventually quieted down a little into childlike giggles to himself, leaning on the gravestone and now facing me, "Alright, you got me!" He exclaimed.

I frowned in confusion, "Uh… wh-what." I'd sorta zoned out staring at him, he'd ended up sorta twitching with laughter like one of those _Hexbugs_.

"The price! The price was a good laugh, you silly! I was going to have you make me laugh~!" He sang, still chuckling a little.

My eyes widened and my jaw dropped, "Oh. _Oh_. Fuck, sorry."

I suddenly felt overwhelmingly embarrassed and I hadn't even had my second first steps yet. This was going swimmingly.

At the thought of the word '_swimmingly_' I suddenly felt an overwhelming explosion of _something_ in my lungs. My body threw itself forward as I started hacking and coughing up what looked like…

_Water? Water. What the hell?_

The strange man had immediately stopped laughing and was now crouching over me with a concentrated frown, "I had wondered why your clothes were drenched…"

I furrowed my eyebrows as I coughed up another bit of water, realizing that my clothes felt rather uncomfortably heavy and cold. What was I even wearing? I guess it would've been whatever the last soul in this body died in so…

_She drowned herself? Wow, that's fucking… savage. Jesum._

I was suddenly distracted from my current outfit when my breathing got shallow and I half-collapsed further to the ground. I felt cold hands wrap around my jerking body and pull me up again, but my body was _so tired_, I didn't wanna be sitting up.

He firmly patted my back as if I were a baby, which embarrassed me for obvious reasons. Here I was coughing up water and looking like a drowned cat in front of some stranger who's willingly helping me.

"Oh dear… Okay, miss, I'm going to need you to stop coughing for as long as you can and lie on your back, okay?" He said this gently, calmly, and slowly as if he were talking to a child. I wondered for a moment how this giggly, odd man had transformed into some professional caretaker in under 30 seconds.

I nodded my head, because my throat was too rough to be able to respond to anything. He helped me lay myself on the ground and I struggled to keep from coughing, feeling the water bubbling in my throat trying to force itself out. It was possibly one of the worst feelings, like when you're in class and have to cough but there's a test going on and you don't wanna be loud. It's sorta like that except times 100 and with the possibility of me dying.

Immediately I was pulled out of my thoughts and my eyes widened when I saw him move his face closer to mine and I fully realized what this guy was going to do. I gripped onto his arm with a force hard enough to bruise in order to prepare myself.

When his lips connected with mine it felt much warmer than his hands, and then uncomfortably warm when his breath forced itself down my throat and into my lungs. It was an oddly intimate gesture seeing my chest rise with air that wasn't mine, but before I could make anything of it I was noticing that I could catch a glimpse of green from behind his bangs when he was this close. Was that glimmering emerald color his eye?

I could hear him inhale through his nose and then breathe out into me again, this time beckoning an uncomfortable tickling and bubbling feeling in the bottom of my lungs. He continued this process, his hands coming to support himself around my shivering body. One time… two times… three ti—

And then I head butted him accidentally as I jerked forward and coughed up the remaining liquid. Once done, I flopped back down and rubbed at my forehead, limply reaching up and apologetically swatting his face with a weak, "Sorry, man."

He giggled quietly, however, and wasn't angry. After a few moments I felt my eyes drooping and I wanted to smack myself for wanting to fall asleep so easily after I just woke up for the second first time.

"H-hey, sorry for makin' you make out with me, that was rude." I rasped a little bit, trying to keep myself awake.

He laughed, "It was my pleasure, madam!"

I blushed at that and pointed at him, "You shush, there was nothing even slightly pleasurable or attractive about that situation. Now I'm just tired and my throat hurts." I didn't even wanna bring up how much it sounded like I'd just given him a blowjob.

"Then sleep," He said, with a grin that seemed a bit kinder than the ones I'd seen originally. Though I couldn't entirely tell with his eyes covered.

I sighed, "Ugh, fine… but _no molesting_ me while I sleep."

I heard the fading cackling sounds of his laughter as I closed my eyes and drifted into blackness.

**...**

When I woke up I wasn't quite sure if I was dead again or not.

The single reason I had to wonder, even though I was breathing and had a pulse, was because I woke up in a coffin. _A coffin_. Like, that ought to raise a few questions. _Especially_ since I managed to pop the lid off and found only more coffins.

An entire fucking room of coffins.

I had to wonder what that guy had let happen to me while I was conked out. Speaking of, I didn't even know his _name._ He didn't even know _my name_. Hell, _you_ don't even know what my name is yet! This is all just a very ill-mannered gathering, now isn't it?

"Hello?" I called, hearing my voice echo far beyond the… "parlor" I was in.

"Chuckles?" I called again, straining my ears for any sort of sound beyond the creaking of the building.

"Hello~" I heard, alarmingly close behind my ear.

I flinched and swung my arm backwards reflexively and yelped when I felt someone catch it. I tried best to turn and see who did and was relieved to find Chuckles, who was smiling widely despite the fact that I'd just tried to whack him in the face.

_How did he even see that behind his bangs? _

"There you are!" I said, feeling the tightness in my gut relax. I still didn't know the guy but I guess I was more comfortable with the guy that saved my life than I was with him just leaving me for someone else to find.

I actually found it rather touching that he'd taken the time to carry me to… wherever this was. Although he had decided to keep me in a coffin, I guess I didn't really see anything else as comfortable around here to lay on.

"Here I am!" He responded, letting go of my arm and moving around to stand in front of me, I noticed a tray of random flasks and beakers with an old chipped teapot balanced on one of his hands. He set them down on a nearby desk and leaned back on a rickety old chair behind it.

I frowned a little bit and decided to stay seated in the coffin, not trusting myself to be able to walk in my new body too gracefully. These legs were much longer than my old ones, my knees would probably knock together or I'd trip over my own feet.

"So who are you, Chuckles? And where am I?" I asked, messing with my hair and grimacing a little at how uncomfortable it was sitting with its long length.

"I'm a mortician! This is my parlor, where I provide specially made coffins! The basement is where I work on my _guests_. You may call me Undertaker." He said this all very proudly, as if he were quite happy with what he did. Which honestly was sort of adorable, if not creepy.

_Wait he made all these coffins? By himself? He's gotta be fuckin' built._ I cleared my head of those thoughts quickly before my face could turn too pink or my eyes could travel any more freely across him.

"What kind of a name is Undertaker, hmm?" I asked, shifting awkwardly to sit criss-cross applesauce. I split my hair in the back and moved it over my shoulders, trying to mess with the bangs which seemed to be an inch too long.

"A self-explanatory one." He answered with a widening grin, "And what about your name, madam?" He asked.

I opened my mouth to answer and then shut it quickly as a sense of dread filled my chest. I stared at the ground and furrowed my eyebrows, "Uh… gimme a minute." I said, maybe a bit too quietly for him to hear.

_I can't remember my name, I can't remember my name, I can't remember my name._ I thought over and over again, rocking back and forth a little bit as if to get my brain going.

_Don't panic. Just think! Um… Wendy? No. Not at all. W...ax? No no no. It starts with an W, doesn't it? Or does it start with an M? Fuck, fuck. How did I fucking forget my _name._ I'm so stupid!_

"Hmm? Are you alright?" I heard him ask.

"Althea!" I said, much louder than I meant to say it. I exhaled in relief and sat up straighter, "B-But you can call me Thea." I fixed, trying to act a bit more cool about it and failing horribly.

"Interesting name," He said, standing up from his chair to hand me a beaker of tea. I raised an eyebrow at it but decided it couldn't be horrible.

"Could say the same for you, Mr. _Undertaker._ Do you have any sugar?"

He grabbed a tin and opened it to a supply of sugar cubes. I grabbed six and proceeded to dunk five of them into the beaker, putting the other in my mouth. I looked up again into Undertaker's face. His mouth was twitching as if he was trying to keep himself from laughing.

"What?" I asked around the sugar cube.

He snorted and burst into a small fit of giggles, "You're a fan of sugar then?" He asked, and I realized what exactly he was going on about.

I flushed and moved the sugar cube to the other side of my mouth, "I happen to like sweets, sue me!" I said with a frustrated huff, causing him only to giggle harder. It was sort of cute, quite honestly, and I wasn't sure why exactly I kept thinking that. In general he was pretty eerie looking.

"Alright, alright, settle down…" I grumbled, patting him off to his perch behind the desk, "So what exactly happened as far as you know?" I asked, squinting my eyes suspiciously. I had no idea what I looked like.

_Oh lord, I'm gonna find myself practicing expressions in front of a mirror at one point, aren't I?_

"Well~ I was simply finishing up departing with one of my guests, burying them that is, and got distracted_._ When I turned around you were suddenly there, and needless to say I was very confused. Ehehe..." He said, cocking his head to the side with an unasked question.

There was a pause in the conversation that lasted a few moments before I realized I was supposed to _answer _the subtle question as to how I got in that graveyard.

"Ah… yes. Um, well… You are, indeed, a mortician, right?" I asked, trying to think about just how I should go about this without sounding insane.

"Indeed I am." He said, and if I could see his eyes I'm sure he would've been raising an eyebrow. He connected his fingers in a steeple, briefly bringing my attention to his long as fuck black nails, and he propped his feet up onto the desk.

"Uh… well, then you must know quite a bit about death I'm sure, but…" I continued on, biting my lip in thought. I wasn't quite sure what I should say. One wrong word and I could be kicked out onto the streets without a clue as to what to do with myself. Part of me wanted to just tell him, I mean he seemed pretty trustworthy, he had saved my life and all. But surely he couldn't be as understanding as a ghost or the Grim Reaper himself.

Undertaker, seeming to realize I was having second thoughts on telling him, spoke up, "I do happen to know a bit about death."

That was true, he _was_ a mortician. But how would he feel about knowing about what the afterlife is all about? Legend has it that not even the Grim Reaper knows… How could I just toss this information like it's something to gloat about. It's the fucking afterlife, not a holiday to Hawaii!

"Undertaker… as much as I have contemplated telling you, I don't really think I can. It would be wrong of me. I'm very new to the situation I'm in, and I don't want to let a vulnerable moment make me completely ruin something secret."

Undertaker tilted his head a bit, not a smile on his face, "What circumstances would there need to be for you to tell me?"

I smiled, "Honestly? You'd need to be dead, dying, or the fucking Grim Reaper himself."

He chuckled, and it didn't sound like the laughs or giggles I'd heard before. It sounded knowing and ageless and… sorta hot? No, no, no… nevermind me saying that. That never happened.

"I think I can arrange one of those." he said with a wide grin.

"Don't get yourself killed, Chuckles, not for this." I pointed sternly.

He shook his head and didn't respond, but he did continue facing my general direction. My skin tingled with the feeling that he was watching me. No, more like he was scrutinizing my very being. He bent his knees and wrapped his arms around them, and I couldn't help but notice how obnoxiously long his legs were.

"So what will you do no, Miss Althea?" He asked.

I stared blankly at him for a moment and then down at the floor. _Well, shit._

"I don't even fucking know, honestly. What sorta jobs can I get in the 1800s? Oh wait, none. It's because I'm a woman, isn't it? Jesum, Tommy really fucking screwed me over, dinnit he?" I asked no one in particular, "I guess I could become a prostitute, but if I'm really being honest with myself I've never done the dirty with anyone but myself. Don't really wanna get an STD on my first go to Spank Town, now do I? Maybe I could marry rich! Am I pretty enough? I don't remember. I haven't seen a mirror, do I have that exotic edge that all these crazy old white guys want?"

I gasped, "Wait, I should be in my early to mid-twenties... Am... Am I _too old _for these crazy old white guys? No fucking way, I'm a fucking _peach. _Ripened to goddamn perfection, I'm at the prime of my lifetime and everybody fucking knows it! I- wh-what are you doing?" I sputtered to a halt, looking up at Undertaker whose grin was wider than ever and whose shoulders were shaking with laughter.

He tilted his head back and cackled a couple times before calming down and sighing contentedly, "Aha... Don't be ridiculous, you can stay here!"

* * *

**THAT was a roller coaster. So we've figured out our character's name is Althea!**

**And yeah I changed the ending of this chapter, sorry if you read the original attempt! I thought it was shit pertaining to the story's intent and purposes so it's different now. Whoops, I'm a capricious asshole, but we all knew that.**

**You may have also noticed, if you've read my more popular fanfiction, _Of Passion and Perversion, _that I've characterized the Undertaker a lil differently. That's because of two things story difference and my maturity quite honestly haha. But focusing on story difference, OPAP's Undertaker was based off a mix of both manga and anime versions of the Undertaker, with the character depth you get in the manga and the general goofiness you get in the anime. In _this _story, Undertaker is based mostly on the manga's version.**

**However, it will stay true to my fanfiction ways and, without giving too much away, will include the ideas used in the manga but will have them used in an entirely different plot. Does that make sense? Rad.**

**Anyway I really hope you enjoyed the updated version because it was an absolute_ bitch_ to reupload. **

**Dear FF, please fix the services you provide for your creators, they're glitchy as fuck. Much love, witchkid. **


	3. Studies and Skeletons

**Guess who's back. Back again.**

**It's me, and I brought fanfiction. **

**This chapter is introducingsome things so it's not super funny or interesting haaa~ but it is entirely _necessary._**

**ONWARDS.**

* * *

There was a moment of radio silence from my end whilst Undertaker giggled quietly to himself. He was still smiling goofily and gazing at me from behind his bangs, as if he hadn't just offered to let some stranger stay with him.

"D-do you mean that?" I asked a little suspicious that he was pulling my leg.

He nodded exaggeratedly, "I do indeed, I do indeed!"

And that was why, 30 minutes afterward, I was supposedly being given a tour of Undertaker's place. I say "supposedly" because he started by introducing me to the parlor we were in and we still hadn't left it _a half an hour later. _

You're probably wondering how he managed to showcase a funeral parlor for any longer than five minutes. Let me tune you in…

"And _this _coffin was made of pine! Gives it sort of a rugged look, doesn't it?" He asked, turning to look at me.

I nodded, "I didn't know you could make coffins with pine. That's pretty, uh… _wild._" I said a bit sarcastically, he didn't notice at all whatsoever.

"It's amazing what you can make a coffin with! Wood, metal, stone… You know, I heard that in Taiwan, they make coffins with crushed oyster shells~!" He spouted delightedly.

I frowned contemplatively. At this point, I was honestly formulating theories in my head that the parlor was the only room in this building, and the Undertaker was just trying to distract me from that by keeping me in here forever.

As he started introducing me to the interior of the pine coffin, I very quietly backed away, eyeing the doorway to the left. It was illuminated with a soft, warm light. The closer I got to it, the more it came in focus.

Before entering through the doorframe, I cast a quick look at Undertaker, seeing that he was still talking animatedly and stroking the inside of the coffin. I felt a teeny bit guilty, but curiosity prevented the cat from being remorseful, eh?

The doorway led to a square landing, to my right was a cracked open door that the aforementioned light was coming from. Besides that, there was a staircase tucking itself down under the floor. I could only see the first couple of steps before it was completely shrouded with the darkness of all nightmares.

I'd seen enough horror movies in my past life, and the cold air wafting up from the lower level was an ominous enough sign for me to switch my attention over to the door.

Now the door was practically the opposite of the staircase, it was bright, it got warmer the closer I got to it, it _wasn't _creepy as fuck. I slowly peeked my head in and saw what seemed to be some sort of a study. There was a sturdy, wooden desk messily covered in journals and papers, a lamp emitting a yellow light, and several books lying about.

The light caught on a pair of old-looking glasses. Although, I didn't know why Undertaker would be concerned about having glasses when he keeps his eyes hidden behind his bangs all the time. Maybe they were reading glasses? Were reading glasses even _invented_ yet? How many times a day am I gonna have to fucking ask myself that? Hell if I knew.

I turned my head to look behind the door but the movement caused the lamp's light to reflect across something hiding in the darkness of the corner. Squinting my eyes, I saw what appeared to be the light glimmering against something curved and… metal?

"Found something~?" The question sounded a few inches away from my ear.

I squeaked and backed away from the door, right into the front of Undertaker, who had thankfully straightened so that I didn't run right into his head. I turned around, mouth open and struggling to find an excuse as to why I was snooping around. Instead, Undertaker put a finger to my lips and reached up with his other hand.

My eyes followed the movement, and I saw that to the side of the door was a single shelf nailed up above the doorframe. There were a few books, a (hopefully fake?) human skull, and a picture frame so dusty I couldn't see what was in it. I didn't think any of those things were something that he would logically grab, but hey, I didn't know with this guy.

He easily reached the high shelf and grabbed for something on the very edge, sliding it down and then holding it in front of me with a smile.

_'A key._'

He was close enough now that I could feel his body heat, and he was only getting closer. His arms began to wrap around my body, my face coming into contact with his chest.

"Chuckles, just what do you think you're-?" I felt my face heating up, my muffled question was interrupted by the sound of a shutting door and a loud _'click'. _I gaped in disbelief as Undertaker pulled away and put the key back up out of reach, an eerie smile on his face.

I wondered what was in there that he wouldn't want me to see. Maybe he kept his diary in there? I didn't know, but he seemed pretty territorial, so I wasn't gonna bring anything up. I wouldn't be surprised if he fucking _growled_ at me at this point, holy hell.

"Why don't I show you the other side of the house? It's where you'll be staying after all." Undertaker asked, not expressing any negative reaction beyond the brief intimidating creepiness. I mean at this point I was contemplating religion over the fact that he didn't kick me out. He began guiding me by the small of my back into the parlor again and through a doorway on the right side of it.

This side of the building too had a landing, with a doorway that led to what looked like a kitchen instead of a study and similarly, stairs going up instead of down. He didn't take me into the kitchen, probably because there wasn't much going on in there. It was pretty barren, showing no signs that he ever prepared much in there besides tea, which I thought was... odd.

Instead, he leaned against the wall and gestured for me to go first. I did so, climbing up the creaky stairs and finding myself in an empty room with four doors, all of them shut and therefore giving me no preview as to what they were.

I didn't think Undertaker had followed me, because I hadn't heard the stairs creaking and groaning behind me. However, I did suddenly feel a warmth against my back and see something black in my peripheral. Turning my head, I saw him and his goofy fuckin' grin, he hadn't said much since finding me nosing around.

I wondered if one of these rooms was a death chamber in which he was going to punish me in. I frowned a little and hesitantly followed as he walked forward to the closest room on the right.

"This is a bedroom~" He said, patting the door without opening it. He moved on to the next one and I rolled my eyes with a snort, grabbing the doorknob and pushing it open. Wasn't much of a tour if I wasn't really seeing anything besides the parlor, now was it?

I was surprised when I opened the door to… a _bedroom_. Is that rude of me? Probably. Whoops. I mean, I expected a bed of course! But maybe I also expected coffins and cobwebs and… _skeletons?_ I don't know. Maybe it would be a bit _too_ "cheesy-dated-horror-film" for a mortician to have a skeleton in his bedroom.

Instead of a crypt-fest, it was just an ordinary, nice-looking bedroom. It had two windows that told me I'd been sleeping in a coffin for longer than I'd thought, for it was dark outside. It had the basics, a big bed, a bedside table, and what looked like a closet. It was obvious from the immaculate look of the room that this wasn't where Undertaker stayed.

_'Or anybody stayed.' _I thought.

I raised an eyebrow and shut the door again, giving the Undertaker a look.

"Why are you looking at me like that~?" He asked while I redirected my gaze quickly when his grin turned into a toothy smirk. I had a thing for bad boy types, man, couldn't get into that.

Trying to force the pink off my cheeks, I shrugged, "It's a bedroom, like you said."

The next room on the right was a bathroom. An odd feeling came over me that I was intruding on something when I saw it. There was a damp towel hanging over the lip of the bathtub, a brush and comb in the cupboard. I saw a shaving razor on the sink, as well as a few bottles of things, including a bottle of... was that really...?

"Chuckles, I'll be completely honest, I did not take you for a whiskey kinda guy." I said, trying to stop the sly smirk from cutting across my face.

"Hah~?" He shuffled towards the bathroom and looked in, spotting the bottle of whiskey sitting idly on the countertop, "Oh dear! I do apologize for that, Miss, I must've… misplaced it."

I nodded, trying to keep from laughing, "Mmhmm, _sure_. What's, uh, what's over here?" I asked, trying to save him from any further discomfort.

He quickly grasped onto the distraction and walked to the other end of the room. He opened one of the two doors and inside was… yet another bedroom. Though this one looked much more lived in. I strolled in, looking about.

The bed was neatly made, a gaudy, ornate lamp sat on the bedside table, a full length mirror leaned against the wall, and this room too had two windows. There were a few things hung up - which was not featured in the last bedroom - but they weren't paintings. Each frame held some sort of scientific illustration. Books were stacked in the corners of the room, out of the way but still very much present, and then just behind the door was a…

_"FUCK."_

_There's_ the skeleton I was looking for.

In my blind panic, I had punched the skull, efficiently beheading it. I watched silently, my fist still raised, as the head rolled lazily around me before coming to a wobbly stop in front of the Undertaker, who looked down at its toothy grin with a lost expression.

We looked at each other at the same time, keeping our silence, before my resolve broke and I snorted. I covered my face in embarrassment as Undertaker and I began laughing obnoxiously. His laughter, of course, was much more loud and impressive, causing him to lean against the doorframe. As guffaws turned into quiet giggles, I held my aching stomach and wiped tears from the corners of my eyes.

"So - pfft_ hehee_ \- is this your room?" I asked.

It took Undertaker a little bit longer to calm down, and I ended up having to repeat the question before he answered, "No, this is a guest bedroom as well~"

He stood, back leaned against the doorframe, smiling as if he were particularly interested in my response. I thought for a moment, realizing that the last door _must _be Undertaker's room. But then why…?

"You're a mortician, why do you even have guest bedrooms?" I questioned, furrowing my eyebrows.

He pouted but it seemed to only be for dramatic purposes, "Are you assuming that I don't have anybody that would want to stay with me, dearest Althea?"

"Okay, yeah, it makes sense to have a guest bed, but _two? _When you already have stuff crammed wherever you can fit it in your parlor? Why would you waste space with _two _guest rooms unless you were actively fuckin' using them, huh?" I asked, hands on my hips.

"..." Undertaker's face merely broke into a grin.

"I'm not the only stranger you're boarding, am I?"

"Forgive me, Althea, but I didn't think you were so clever… nor so suspicious." He lightly jabbed, he didn't look away from me whilst tapping his chin.

"So, I'm not." I confirmed, raising an eyebrow, wondering what the hell a mortician would be doing boarding up people.

"Well, I suppose you would've found out eventually. I would say you're the only _stranger _I've let stay here. I do sometimes have other guests that stay for a night or two when they're on the job and need a place to stay. I don't let those guests live with me for long periods of time, like you, but you seem to be a _special case~_" He said, and as he finished I felt like my very soul was being examined and judged.

I cleared my throat, focusing on the information he'd given, "And when you say 'guests', you don't mean the dead kind, do you?"

He paused for a moment, "I assure you, they all breathe~"

I wondered a bit about the phrasing of his response before pinning it down to him being odd and shrugging it off.

"And also… why is this room filled with books and pictures and a goddamn _skeleton _when the other guest room is-"

"Empty? Let's just say I have a couple of high maintenance guests that are very concerned about their living atmosphere." Undertaker said, making a quick look that simply said "yeesh".

I grinned, "Translation: you have a couple of guests that complain about the clutter when they come to stay, so you leave one room clean?"

"Precisely~" Undertaker confirmed with a chuckle.

"So I suppose I'll stay in here then? To keep out of those guests' way." I said, bending down to pick up the skull and placing it back on the stilted frame of the skeleton. Which again, was _hopefully _fake.

"That might be the wiser decision. Now if I may bring up a topic that's been eating at me for a while?" He said, lilting his voice so it sounded like a question.

"Uh, sure, shoot."

"What in all of England are you _wearing?"_ He asked. I frowned, although I could tell he wasn't asking to be rude or make fun. He seemed genuinely curious as to what the fuck I had on. I hadn't really registered what clothes I was in, just that they were wet earlier due to the fact that this girl's body that I was in had killed herself via drowning. But Undertaker didn't know that much.

In fact, it was pretty fucking nice that despite him knowing so little when the situation was so confusing, he was letting me stay with him. I mean if some bitch spouting nonsense showed up in my graveyard and then proceeded to drown on land, I probably would've called the authorities.

Wondering what exactly I _was_ wearing, I walked over to the full length mirror and saw that… oh boy... Our dearest body had definitely not come from the 21st century. Though it could definitely be worse, because it was clear that the clothes were at least a lot more modern than the 1880s.

First was the black knit top, with a collar line going up way too far but not far enough to be a turtleneck. I don't know what this chick thought she was doing swimming in _knit clothing _first of all. Second were the black tights that disappeared behind a skirt that fell a few inches above the knee.

_'School appropriate, how disgusting.' _

The thing about the skirt was that it was high waisted (which, I mean, I guess was a thing going on even in my time?) and a dark green color with a fucking distracting diamond pattern going on. Then there were the shoes, they were pretty much Mary Janes that had a platform heel. That means that either this girl came from Tumblr or from the 70s, but my bets were placed a bit higher on the latter.

"So I could've chosen the land of Farrah Fawcett and David Bowie and I got sent to a place where vaccines are barely a thing?" I mumbled to myself.

"What was that?" Undertaker asked, drifting closer to the mirror and settling behind me.

"Nothing..." I grumbled, then distracted myself by noticing how much taller than me he was. Even though I'd gained a couple inches in this new body, it was nothing compared to his skyscraper cosplay.

I looked behind me, first at Undertaker and then at the windows against the far wall. Upon seeing how dark it was, a yawn forced itself out of my mouth. Undertaker snickered and grabbed my shoulders, steering me over to the bed.

He sat me down and patted my head, "I'll go and fetch you some night clothes." He said before all but disappearing.

Silence took over the room as soon as the creaking of the stairs stopped. I felt like something invisible was muffling over my ears. Sitting here, in this quiet moment, made something heavy sink in my chest. I felt almost as if I had tried fast forwarding a movie and when I pressed play I was in a spot I'd not seen before.

But I couldn't go back.

I felt tears pricking the corners of my eyes and burning my nose. That was the truth, wasn't it? I couldn't go back, and was that my reward or my punishment?

But then as if being told by that animated monkey from _Lion King_ I heard, _'Look closer.'_

Holding my head in my hands I shook my head incredulously. Because, quite honestly, I _could _go back. The ghosts in the graveyard, they never addressed it, but if all it takes is suicide then surely there were people cheating the system. Cheating the system by killing themselves so that they live forever in different bodies and in different times, it didn't make _sense._

_'Why wouldn't they have said anything about that? Surely that would've been priority numero uno, to tell me not to fuckin' cheat death, right?'_

I looked up blankly at a scientific illustration of a human heart, _'I could go back.'_

"Sorry if this is too small, it was the only size I had that wouldn't smother you in fabric, hehe~" Undertaker's voice echoed distantly before the door creaked open and he entered the room. In his hands was a nightgown with long sleeves, buttoning up in the front and made of thin fabric. I was definitely in the 1800s.

His presence ripped me out of my thoughts and I smiled, though even I could tell it wasn't convincing, "Thanks, Undertaker."

"Goodnight, Althea. Sweet dreams~" He said, backing out of the door.

"G'night," I called to his retreating form. Though from the way my brain was buzzing, I had a feeling that even if I did manage to get to sleep, I wouldn't be having sweet dreams at all.

* * *

**Super super fun, yeah? **

**This chapter was a bit more serious because it unfortunately had to be. Again, I know some of you guys are coming over from _Of Passion and Perversion _and expecting it to be similar, but I actually expect this story to go somewhere lmao. So instead of gratuitous soft porn in each chapter I'm gonna have to, you know, actually further the plot?**

**And I foreshadowed and hinted to many a fucking thing in this chapter, if you caught on then you better be goddamn excited. I promise, it'll be simply to _die _for~! **


End file.
